


The Humanity of the Moment

by Wilde Hare (casual_distance)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Day One: Beauty, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Model Katsuki Yuuri, Model Victor Nikiforov, NaNoWriMo 2018, Photography, Time Period Not Specified, Yuuri Week 2018, mentioned Yuuri/Phichit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casual_distance/pseuds/Wilde%20Hare
Summary: This small collection of photographs of the same two men, they tell a love story.





	The Humanity of the Moment

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by vintage/Victorian erotic photography, and it’s meant to be set in that kind of time period, but specifics are not really important to the story itself. That said, there is implied time-period specific homophobia, but it’s very background and only referenced by the characters. Also, who even knows how old cameras work. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This was written for [Yuuri Week](https://yuuriweek2018.tumblr.com), Day One. I had the prompt of Beauty in mind, but it could also fit Eros. It was also something I wrote for NaNoWriMo, because I am a NaNo Rebel who writes anything other than a novel during November.

###  **Photograph One**

_An old photograph, black and white faded to an aging yellow, the edges bent, one corner missing. A crease runs the vertical length of it. Old tape on the back of it strengthens the line of the crease; it’s not torn yet, but it was clear the owner was cautions about tearing it. Faded on the back of the photo, script curls and twists in on itself, nearly decorative:_

_“Love of My Life, May xxxx, Our First Shoot”_

_In the photograph, two men are pressed tight together. One is looking down at the other, while he looks at the photographer and – by extension – the viewer. They are both undressed, chests bare. The taller has light colored hair, nearly white in the photograph, long, partially tied back so that strands still fall loose over his shoulders to be twisted around the other’s fingers. The one focused on the camera has dark hair slicked back. Both their lips are dark with what must have been bright red lipstick. It smears across their mouths messily. A hint of shine teases on the swells of their lower lips._

_The brunette is wearing panties and stockings that hook to garters tight around his thighs. The blonde is wearing nothing at all. His privates are hidden by the hip of the brunette, but the implication – the implication is that they have been interrupted. They have been caught in a private moment._

Yuuri tugged his robe tighter around his body. He wanted to touch his face, but the stylist was one he’d worked with before and the man would sooner cut Yuuri’s hands off than have to fix his make-up. Again.

Yuuri tucked his fingers into his armpits, arms wrapped around himself, and sat gingerly in a chair behind the photographer. His partner for this set of photos was in the current set as well. He’d never worked with the man before, but watching him now, Yuuri was aware of how beautiful he was with soft skin and long hair that shone under the delicate lights. Yuuri felt embarrassingly plain next to him, his own short hair slicked back away from his face.

On the stage, a bedroom draped with blankets and tapestries meant to evoke a sense of privateness, of being hidden away, his partner for the shoot – Viktor Nikiforov – was partnered with another man. Yuuri himself has ended up partnered with both men and women, in a variety of configurations, but from what he’s heard of Viktor, the man only worked with other men.

Right now, Viktor was bent over the bed, one knee hooked onto the edge, angled just enough that the private places of his body were barely visible in the dim space between his thighs. The other man leaned over him, one hand braced on the bed, the other on Viktor’s hip. His cock, hard and swollen, was pressed against Viktor’s skin, the head not quite touching Viktor’s entrance.

Yuuri couldn’t keep his eyes away from that spot, couldn’t stop staring at the space there. He knew penetration wouldn’t actually happen; photographs of this nature rarely went to so far.

He dragged his eyes up Viktor’s body to where Viktor had his head tossed back. He wore his hair loose, the light reflecting off it to give him an ethereal look. His eyes were closed, his lips parted. He looked as if he belonged there, beneath another man, about to have his body split open, about to let himself be taken apart.

Yuuri shivered. He squeezed his thighs together, aware of the fact that he was growing hard in the small panties he’d been put into. Heat flushed his cheeks. He rose to walk away and put his back to the act being performed.

Being hard wasn’t… well, no one would look down on him necessarily, but it made him vulnerable in a way he didn’t like, not when he was surrounded by strangers.

Yuuri shook his head and hunched in on himself. He found a private corner and tucked himself into it, leaning his head carefully against the wall to keep from disturbing the work that had been done to his hair.

He listened with half an ear to the directions being called out, but mostly he let himself drift away from this place. He let himself focus on other things, calming things. He tried to force his heartbeat into something normal, and hoped it would work by the time it was his turn to be in front of the camera.

At least, he thought, he didn’t have to actually perform, not the way the actors in the moving pictures were required to. Reminding himself of the difference in need, reminding himself of the little that was required of him, helped. He’d done this before; he could do it again.

He didn’t have to look at the final product, only be paid for it.

He could do that. He has done that.

Resolved, Yuuri straightened up. His cock had softened again, which relieved the last knot of tension in his chest. As he made his way back to the stage, the photographer called the end of the current shoot.

“We’ll take a break,” he said. “Viktor, once you’ve rested, go have them redo your make up. We want a different look for this one.”

The photographer, Christophe, Yuuri remembered belatedly, turned and caught sight of him. He broke into a smile.

“Ah, Yuuri, darling. This is Viktor. He’s going to be working with you for our shoot.”

“Thank you, Christophe. Hello, Viktor.”

Yuuri offered his hand as he had been taught to. Viktor was slow to take it, his eyes latched onto Yuuri’s face. He continued to stare until Christophe cleared his throat. Viktor jumped. His eyes darted to Christophe and then back to Yuuri’s face even as his cheeks flushed red.

“It’s – um – it’s lovely to meet you, Yuuri,” Viktor said with a gentle shake. He let go as if he couldn’t stand to be touching Yuuri.

Yuuri forced a smile. “You as well.”

“Break, sweetheart,” Christophe reminded Viktor with a hand to his shoulder.

“Right. Of course. I’ll… be right back.” He still hesitated before leaving, looking over his shoulder.

“Is working with me going to be a problem?” Yuuri asked, his stomach sinking. He’d never met anyone who’d reacted to him in such a way.

Christophe laughed. He put a hand to the small of Yuuri’s back and pushed him toward the stage. “Oh, I’m sure Viktor’s delighted to work with you.”

Yuuri pursed his lips, uncertain.

“Don’t worry about Viktor, darling. You’re beautiful like this. Now, for this shoot you are going to be seducing the audience as much as you have Viktor.”

Yuuri made a face, which caused Christophe to laugh. “I’ve seen your work. You are more than capable of it. Now, I’m going to also take a break. Make yourself comfortable. You’ll have to lose the robe when I return though.”

Yuuri nodded, managing a small smile. He sat down on the bed, the same spot where Viktor had been bent over it. The camera angle would make the bed look larger, but in truth it was a narrow mattress, not wide enough for two people to lay in it, a tight fit even for one.

Yuuri leaned back on his hands and looked around the set. It was different up close. The plush carpet under his bare feet was set on top of a hollow wooden stage that creaked as he walked on it. The mattress was hard and uncomfortable, probably the cheapest the studio could find. Everything smelled musty and old; up close, he could see the places on the tapestries that had been poorly stitched together and the places that had yet to be fixed.

The sound of a camera shutter going off pulled Yuuri from his thoughts. He looked over to find Christophe tucked behind his camera, eye pressed to the case as he clicked another photo. Behind Christophe, Viktor stared at him intently. His make-up had been redone, so he now wore the same deep red lipstick as Yuuri. His hair had been partially pulled back so long strands still hung free over his shoulders. The contrast of masculinity and femininity was startling, alluring. Yuuri wanted to touch him.

Christophe murmured something in French. Viktor answered him without taking his eyes away from Yuuri. Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to look away.

The camera went off again.

Yuuri looked at Christophe as he stood up.

“I should have worked with you ages ago,” he sighed. He gestured at Viktor. “Join him please, Viktor. Leave your robes on for now, both of you, but tie them loosely so they open a little.”

Yuuri stood and obeyed, adjusting the tie of his robe. Viktor did the same as he joined Yuuri on the stage next to the bed. Unlike him, Viktor wore nothing under his robe. Now hanging open, Yuuri could see how Viktor’s cock rose from between the folds as it began to grow hard.

Yuuri looked at it for too long, but when he jerked his eyes up, face heated, Viktor only looked pleased.

Still, he asked, ”Is that going to be a problem?”

“Problem?” Yuuri frowned.

“Some men don’t like that I like men.”

“Oh. No, I, um, I do, too.”

Viktor smiled widely. He put a hand on Yuuri’s arm.

“Pull him to you,” Christophe said, and Yuuri realized he’d been hearing the camera clicking in the background.

Viktor slid his hand down Yuuri’s arm to catch his fingers and pull him closer. Yuuri followed his lead without thought, looking up into Viktor’s eyes.

“Kiss now, please, darlings.”

Yuuri parted his lips and tipped his chin up. Viktor leaned down, his hand settling on Yuuri’s waist. Their lips touched, tentative at first, then with more effort and focus. Yuuri opened his mouth to Viktor at the touch of his tongue. Viktor moaned and pushed harder against him. His fingers dug into Yuuri’s hip. Yuuri held tightly onto his shoulders and kissed him back desperately. Viktor was hard between them, but so was Yuuri.

“Boys!”

Viktor and Yuuri both jerked back at the loud clap that accompanied Christophe’s call. They looked over to find him smirking.

“Disrobe please.”

Yuuri blushed and pulled back to untie his robe, but Christophe made a displeased noise that had him pausing.

“Disrobe each other.”

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath. Viktor’s hand still sat on his hip, but with the directive, he dragged is fingers forward to catch on the ties of Yuuri’s robe. Yuuri looked up to watch Viktor’s face. He glanced at Yuuri through his eyelashes, but most of his attention was on his hands.

He tugged lightly on the ties, pulling until they loosened and then fell apart. The front of his robe fell open to reveal his cock trapped against his hip by his panties. Viktor sucked in a sharp breath and looked up at Yuuri’s face. He met Viktor’s wide-eyed stare shamelessly, thrilled by the look on his face, by the way Viktor’s pupils were dilated, the blue of them a shiver of color in his eyes. He stared at Yuuri, chest rising and falling as if he gasped for air.

Slowly, without looking, Viktor’s fingers traced up the opened edges the robe to Yuuri’s shoulders. He tucked his fingers under the robe and then pushed it off Yuuri’s shoulders. His hands rested hot against the curve of Yuuri’s neck making him shiver and his breath catch. Yuuri closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply.

Viktor ran his hands down Yuuri’s arms to take his hands and guide them to the ties of his robe. Yuuri opened his eyes and looked down between them. Viktor’s cock poked out from his robe, foreskin pulled back to reveal the head shining wet with reflected light.

Yuuri wanted to touch it. He wanted to put his tongue to it.

Instead he put his trembling fingers to work undoing the knot of Viktor’s robe. He opened it to reveal a body that was shaved clean and lithe with muscles. Yuuri wanted to feel embarrassed at his own softness in contrast, but Viktor’s hands were back on his waist, and his fingers were clenching and releasing as if he wanted to grab Yuuri tightly.

Yuuri ran his hands up Viktor’s chest, touching him directly. As he reached Viktor’s shoulders he looked up to meet Viktor’s eyes. Their gazes held as Yuuri paused. He pressed the tips of his fingers into the muscles of Viktor’s shoulders, then lifted his hands to push the robe off his body. It pooled in the crook of Viktor’s arms; he had yet to let go of Yuuri.

“Kiss,” Christophe called.

This kiss was less gentle, less hesitant. Yuuri twisted his hands in Viktor’s hair and held tightly to him. Viktor let go briefly to drop his robe to the floor. Yuuri pushed up against him, using his feet to put more of his weight on Viktor.

Viktor bit at his lips, muttering under his breath in another language. Yuuri responded in his own language.

“Yuuri, look at me,” Christophe called.

Yuuri dropped back flat on his feet. He broke the kiss with Viktor. They were still pressed together, and Yuuri didn’t move away. He dragged his fingers through the length of Viktor’s hair until they came to rest against the curve of his bicep. Viktor held tightly to his waist.

“Yuuri,” Christophe called again, and this time Yuuri forced his eyes away from the mess he’d made of Viktor to look at the photographer.

He couldn’t even hear the snapping of the shutter over his own pounding heart.

###  **Photographs Two and Three**

**__** _Carefully preserved, this diptych hangs in a museum as part of an exhibition on the history of sexuality in art. Both photographs are in black and white, clearly aged, the edges of the photos uneven and worn. The subjects in the photographs are the same two individuals in different positions._

_The plaque hanging beside the photographs reads:_

> _Phichit Chulanont  
>  Thai, xxxx – xxxx  
>  Love in Honesty, xxxx_
> 
> _Part of Phichit Chulanont’s famous photography series exploring the romantic and sexual lives of queer couples, these photographs depict the early relationship of Chulanont’s closest friend and confidant, Katsuki Yuuri (Japanese) and his partner Viktor Nikiforov (Russian). The couple are known for both their history of being subjects in erotic art as well as for their own creative pursuits, writing and photography, respectively._

_In the first photograph, a man lies on his back, head fallen over the side of a bed. His eyes are closed, mouth opened around a noiseless sound. The camera has captured the fullness of his lips, the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheek. His dark hair falls loose around his face._

_One hand curls against his own shoulder; the other arm is stretched down the length of his body. His knees are up and his thighs are spread wide apart. A head of light hair, blurred by distance, can be seen between his thighs. Pale hands hold tight to the man’s thighs._

_Though no details can be seen, it is clear what the scene captures._

_In the second photograph, the dark haired man is now on his stomach. The light haired man lies on top of him. Their faces are turned toward each other. Their eyes are closed. Their mouths are close, but they do not touch. Their fingers are slotted together, both of them gripping the sheets. Sweat beads along their hairlines and on the muscles of the man on top. In the dimness down their bodies, the spread of the dark haired man’s legs is obvious. His partner is between his legs._

_Though no details can be seen, it is clear what the scene captures._

“Are you sure?” Phichit asked. He watched Yuuri wash the last of their lunch dishes.

“Yes.” He sounded sure, and Phichit knew this wasn’t anything new, necessarily, though Yuuri’s jobs in the past had (mostly) been acting and not participating in actual sex.

Phichit wanted to catch actual sex.

“You know you can’t just fake it. I like my participants to actually have sex with each other.”

Yuuri drew in a deep breath, his shoulders drawing up and then relaxing low. He set the last dish in the drainer and then pulled the plug to let the sink empty of water. He rinsed his hands and picked up a towel to dry them before he turned around to face Phichit.

“I know, but Viktor and I both support this project you’re working on. He’s toyed around with the idea of doing something similar before.”

That was news to Phichit. He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Yuuri smiled at Phichit’s unsubtle delight. He hung up the towel and poured himself a cup of coffee before joining Phichit at the table, where he sat with his own already.

“We’ve also been talking about doing something like this, you know, for ourselves.”

That was perhaps more surprising than hearing he’d managed to beat Viktor Nikiforov to what he hoped would be a perspective-changing exhibition.

“Really?”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Don’t act that surprised. I’ve done these kind of photos before.”

“Not with real sex. I’ve seen your work, and it’s mostly faked.”

“Yes, but the only ones it wasn’t faked for have been with Viktor.”

That was true. Phichit hummed agreement as he took a sip of his coffee. He missed tea, but it had been hard to get as of late. He knew Yuuri missed it too. Hopefully this exhibit would sell well enough he could afford some for them both.

“It won’t bother you to have sex in front of me?”

Yuuri flushed at that and looked down at the table. He fidgeted nervously with his mug. “I – I mean, I can’t say it won’t be weird.” He wrinkled his nose as Phichit laughed. “But I’d rather it you than anyone else.”

“Not even Christophe?” Phichit asked, sly. He laughed again when Yuuri made a face.

“I like him well enough, but he’s…” Yuuri trailed off, looking pained.

Phichit smiled widely. He’d worked with Christophe before. He knew well what Yuuri would think of his exuberance. He could draw Yuuri out of his shell during a shoot and guide him to create some of the sexiest photos Phichit had ever seen, but in such a personal setting, Yuuri would probably be overwhelmed and Christophe would likely overstep boundaries.

“Okay,” Phichit said.

Yuuri’s attention snapped to him. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.” He smiled at Yuuri’s delight. “Since you and Viktor want private photos, I can do the shoot for that and if there are any you’re willing to let me include in my project, I’ll do that, okay?”

“Oh, Phichit!” Yuuri leaned across the table to pull him into a hug. Phichit couldn’t help laughing again. He hugged Yuuri back, amused and delighted at his friend’s happiness.

* * *

Their bedroom didn’t need much in the way of rearranging. Phichit had come the day before and looked around. He’d given them directions on cleaning up and how to arrange things, but he’d been happy with the position of the bed, showing them where he’d planned to set up his camera and how he’d planned to get photos.

“I’ll have two,” he said. “One on a tripod and one that I’ll carry.”

“What do you want us to do?” Viktor asked. He was more nervous than Yuuri, Phichit noted with interest.

“Nothing. Whatever you normally do. I’m not here to give directions or offer any feedback. This is about your relationship.” He paused and watched how Yuuri tucked his hand into Viktor’s. “I want to capture what’s real. I want to see how you to interact with each other. That’s what this project is for, both of them. They’re meant to be about honesty.”

Viktor’s neutral expression shifted, then, into something that Phichit couldn’t read. Yuuri looked up at Viktor and said something in Russian. It kept Phichit outside the conversation, but that was fine. It wasn’t one he needed to be part of.

Viktor looked at Yuuri and answered him back in Russian. They spoke quietly until Viktor nodded. He turned back to Phichit.

“Honesty,” he repeated.

Phichit smiled.

“We can be honest.”

“Thank you.”

Viktor studied him before nodding. Yuuri walked Phichit back to his apartment. At his door, Phichit had asked, “Is he really okay with this?”

“Yes. He just… well. He’s fine with it.”

“Is he fine with me?”

Yuuri looked surprised. “With you?”

“Since we’re friends.” He and Yuuri weren’t and hadn’t been romantically involved, but they were close, close enough that they had had sex with each other. Close enough that when they’d been younger and poorer they had lived like a couple, had been a couple in a lot of ways, but not in the most important way, perhaps.

“Are you asking if he knows about us?”

“No. Well – no, not exactly.”

Yuuri smiled at him. “He does, and no, that’s not what’s bothering him.” Yuuri sighed and leaned up against the wall beside the door. Phichit joined him, and they stood shoulder to shoulder.

“Some of it – it’s between us, between me and Viktor, but he’s. He’s not used to being seen as… well, as being someone who can be himself for himself.”

Phichit thought about that. He rolled it around his mind, remembered the look on Viktor’s face when he’d said… “Honesty.”

Yuuri sighed. “Honesty.” He tipped his head briefly against Phichit’s shoulder. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

They both pushed off the wall and turned to each other. Yuuri smiled and leaned forward for a hug.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

* * *

Phichit stayed behind the tripod for the first part of the shoot. He’d found it easier for the partners he was photographing to get involved with each other if he was separated from them by something more physical than his silence.

Viktor and Yuuri were no exception.

Their first kisses were half focused, their attention split between each other and him, but as they moved further, as the kisses grew deeper and their hands became more sure, they no longer looked at him. Instead, they focused on each other, gasping directions and whispering to each other.

By the time Yuuri was on his back, Viktor between his legs, Phichit had left the camera on the tripod to circle the bed and take additional shots. He knelt in front of Yuuri as Yuuri’s head hung over the edge of the bed and caught his face in ecstasy. Yuuri opened his eyes and stared at Phichit just as Phichit snapped another shot.

Phichit lowered the camera and there was a moment where they looked at each other, heat surging down Phichit’s spine, a focused desire instead of the distant arousal that always accompanied him watching hot sex.

Then Yuuri closed his eyes, his back arching, a low cry escaping him. He rolled up to grab Viktor by the hair and pull him into a kiss. Phichit raised the camera and took more shots as he moved around the bed.

He returned to the tripod and took a few more distant shots, but quickly abandoned it for shooting up close. Both Viktor and Yuuri deserved the detail of their intimacy, deserved the honesty of it since they were giving it to him.

He owed it to them.

* * *

They sat around Viktor and Yuuri’s coffee table, all three of them on the floor, shifting through the photos Phichit had taken of them. Yuuri and Viktor were pressed up against each other, Viktor’s arm around Yuuri. Phichit sat across from them, leaning forward with an elbow rested against the table.

If they picked a photograph, he offered commentary or feedback on it. There were two piles already formed: one that Viktor and Yuuri wouldn’t keep for themselves or didn’t want used as part of Phichit’s project and a second that Viktor and Yuuri wanted for themselves but didn’t want used in the project. The second pile grew faster than the first; they had yet to decide which ones they wanted to be included in the project.

Phichit wasn’t worried yet, not with so many photos left to work through.

“Oh.” Phichit looked up to see that Yuuri was looking at the photo of himself hanging over the side of the bed, Viktor between his legs.

“I like that one,” Viktor said. He took it from Yuuri and held it up in front of them.

“For the project?” Yuuri asked.

“Yes.” Viktor pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Also for us.”

“I can make a copy of it,” Phichit assured. He liked that photo, too.

The next one they looked at was the one where Yuuri’s eyes were open and looking straight at the camera – at Phichit.

Phichit held his breath and forced himself to stay relaxed. It looked… well, a jealous man would take offense to the way Yuuri was looking at someone who wasn’t his partner, even more so when said person had a history with their partner.

Viktor said nothing. He didn’t pick it up the way he had the other. Yuuri didn’t comment on it either. Instead, he let Viktor set it aside. Phichit swallowed thickly. He forced himself to breath and tried not to think about it as they moved on to the next picture.

In the end, Viktor and Yuuri approved five photographs to be used for his project, and kept over half of them for themselves, asking if Phichit could enlarge three of them to be hung in their bedroom, to which Phichit agreed.

“Thank you for doing this,” Yuuri said as he pulled Phichit into a hug.

“Thank you for letting me.” Phichit hugged Yuuri tightly, and when he stepped back, Viktor also pulled him into a hug, surprising him.

“By the way,” Viktor muttered before he let go, “you’re welcome to keep that one photo of Yuuri for yourself.”

Phichit’s face heated up, and when Viktor pulled back to look at him, he burst into laughter. Phichit buried his face in his hands.

“Phichit?”

“Nothing!”

“I told him he could keep one for himself,” Viktor said, and while Phichit had known that Viktor was shameless in a way that neither Phichit nor Yuuri had ever managed to be, it was different to be the object of such shamelessness. This explained a lot about Yuuri’s reactions.

“Viktor…” Yuuri groaned. He shoved a laughing Viktor back into the living room and walked Phichit to the front door.

“Sorry,” he muttered without looking at Phichit.

“It’s okay.” His embarrassment was already fading, less sensitive to it than Yuuri was.

Yuuri chewed on his lip for a moment before glancing up at Phichit through his eyelashes. He carefully didn’t make eye contact when he continued.

“He meant it though. It is okay if you, um, if you – ah – the one of you and me.”

Phichit’s breath caught. He hadn’t – he’d thought that moment was… well, he hadn’t thought it was about him. He hadn’t thought… Hadn’t let himself think such a thing. He wasn’t in love with Yuuri, but it would have been easy at one point, and sometimes it felt like a missed opportunity. He’d never wondered what Yuuri thought about it, not until this moment.

“Okay,” he breathed.

Yuuri looked up at him then and smiled sweetly. For a moment he hesitated, then he leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Phichit’s mouth.

“Thank you again,” he whispered.

“Yeah. Yuuri, of course.” He caught Yuuri up in another hug, making him laugh. He liked a happier, lighter Yuuri, so he squeezed him extra hard to make him give a squeaky laugh.

“We’ll do lunch later this week, okay?”

Yuuri was grinning when he let go. “Okay.”

Phichit winked at him and then slipped out the front door. He grinned all the way home, and though he would never confirm it for Viktor and Yuuri, he did keep that photograph in a special place.

###  **Photograph Four**

**__** _The photograph is black and white, with a gentle watercolor wash over it to add gold accents on parts of the photograph: one of the sheets on the bed, the lips of the man, a halo around his head._

_The edges are worn with use and age. Several creases crisscross the front of it, and the back is a mess of tape to reinforce the photograph. Beneath the tape, which is yellowed with age, a looped handwriting in faded ink can be made out:_

_“Love of My Life, Our Home, Our Wedding Night”_

_The photograph is of a man on his back in a nest of blankets of different hues and different textures. The man is naked, at least as much of him as can be seen. His arms are up, curved in a delicate loop around his head to reinforce the echo of the painted-on halo. He stares up into the camera, a smile warming his face. At the bottom of the photo, a pair of knees can be seen on either side of the man’s chest, giving the impression that the photographer is kneeling over him._

Yuuri dozed in the late morning sunlight in their bed, turned over on his stomach, his head pillowed on his arms, because they’d managed to kick the pillows off the bed during their love making.

Yuuri would snort at him when he called it love making. Love making, he would say, is not near that energetic. Viktor disagreed, because anytime he had sex with Yuuri, whether it was energetic and acrobatic, or slow and sweet, the two of them kissing more than moving, it was done with love. All of it, every time Viktor touched Yuuri, there was love behind it.

The first time he’d said so out loud, Yuuri had stared, wide-eyed and stunned, face bright red, before he’d leaned into Viktor and kissed him back into the bed.

The memory of that day always left a smile on Viktor’s face. He turned over to look at Yuuri, resting a hand in the small of his back. He was so beautiful, gilded in gold and pliant. Melted into their shared bed as if it was his place in the world, as if he believed it and the first few months of their relationship were a distant dream.

Viktor leaned over and kissed Yuuri’s shoulder. He turned his head to press his cheek there and rested an arm over Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri didn’t shift or move, but his breathing sped up. Viktor could imagine the way he was blinking awake slowly, his mind sluggish and wandering.

“We should get married,” Viktor murmured.

“Married?” Yuuri asked after a long moment of him parsing Viktor’s words. He shifted under Viktor, so Viktor leaned back to let him turn over and look at him.

Yuuri cupped Viktor’s cheeks and pulled him down into a sleep-sour kiss. Yuuri wrinkled his nose, but Viktor was unapologetic in being able to appreciate all aspects of Yuuri.

“I know we can’t… legally get married, but… I mean, I want to be with you forever. We should celebrate that.”

Yuuri’s eyes wandered over his face the same as his fingers did, touching the curve of his jaw, his lips, his eyebrows.

“You want to have a party.”

Viktor pouted. “I want to say vows. I want to wear our best clothing and stand in front of our friends and tell them what you mean to me.”

“Then you want to have a party.” Yuuri grinned devilishly.

Viktor whined and latched onto Yuuri, rolling them over so that Yuuri was on top of him. Yuuri laughed and pressed his face into Viktor’s shoulder before settling himself into a comfortable position. Viktor ran his hands over Yuuri’s back, encouraging him to melt even further into him.

“I think it sounds wonderful,” Yuuri whispered.

Viktor pressed his lips together tightly to contain his excitement, settling instead for tipping his head down to shower kisses to Yuuri’s dark hair. Not fooled, Yuuri turned his face up and let Viktor kiss his delighted smile with his own.

Before Viktor could deepen the kiss, Yuuri pulled away, his eyes wide. He pushed away from Viktor, but when Viktor protested, he raised a hand.

“Wait – hold on!” He scrambled from the bed, nearly tripping in the tangle of sheets. He righted himself and kicked free, leaving Viktor to admire the flex of muscles in his back and the curve of his ass – complete with the dark bruises of Viktor’s bite.

Viktor smirked to himself as Yuuri knelt down in front of the dresser and began digging through the bottom drawer. When he stood he hid his hands behind his back as he made his way back to Viktor.

“Sit up,” he requested. He sat down in the empty space in front of Viktor, forcing Viktor to fold his legs up. Yuuri’s knees pressed tightly against his own, and Viktor molded his palms to the curve of them, his thumb brushing against the skin of Yuuri’s thigh.

Yuuri took a deep breath. “I’ve had these for a while. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it though.”

“Feel about what?”

Yuuri smiled at him. “Getting married,” he said as he brought his hands in front of his body to reveal a small jeweler’s box. The lid creaked as he opened it. Inside the box sat two gold rings – two men’s rings.

Viktor gasped and covered his mouth with his hands. “Yuuri…” he breathed, eyes burning as tears built up.

“Do you like them?” Yuuri asked, shy.

Viktor smiled. “I love them.” His voice wobbled, but he could only think how amazing his soon-to-be husband was. He held out his hand. “Put it on.”

“You don’t want to wait till we’re married?” Yuuri teased.

“No, never. Please, Yuuri.”

Yuuri laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. He sounded as choked as Viktor felt.

With trembling hands, Yuuri removed one ring and gave it to Viktor. He pulled the other ring free and set the box aside. Viktor slid his hand, also trembling, into Yuuri’s. Yuuri held it for a long moment, eyes downward. He swallowed noisily and looked up at Viktor. His eyes shone bright with tears and happiness, joy so incandescent Viktor knew he could never capture it with a camera. It made Yuuri glow – it made Yuuri holy.

Viktor hardly breathed as Yuuri slid the ring into place on Viktor’s finger. Yuuri didn’t say anything, and neither did Viktor, as he did the same to Yuuri. They held hands, fingers clasped tight, until the cold of the ring faded into the warmth of their bodies, until the newness of the rings no longer felt so strange.

They held hands and stared into each other’s eyes, silent, golden, glowing. When Viktor finally leaned forward, so did Yuuri. They stopped a hair’s breadth apart, lips not touching, breath shared between them.

“Husband,” one of them whispered. A hitch of breath. An equally reverent answer: “Husband.”

It was worship. It was celebration.

They tangled together, laughter bubbling up and spilling into the room to mix with the morning light.

Later, when the sun was higher, and the light in the room washed everything white instead of gold, Yuuri lay beneath Viktor, arms over his head in a stretch, his spine curved up off the bed, his hips pressing into the back of Viktor’s thighs.

He was soft against his own belly, but that would change soon. For the moment, this was what Viktor wanted. This was what Viktor needed to capture. He leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed his camera.

Yuuri relaxed against the bed and smiled up at him. Viktor snapped the photograph and then another. He stood up, feet on either side of Yuuri’s hips and took one more, this one catching all of him, all of him that was for Viktor alone.

Later, later, he would remember the golden Yuuri of that morning and he would find gold paint to make Yuuri the bright god of light he was, but for now, all he was, was Viktor’s husband.

And Viktor was his. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love and adore kudos and comments, but my mental health is averaging in the negatives right now, so if you comment and I do not comment back, please please please know that I love you for it and your comment made my day 1000% better.


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